This was not a subject I was anxious to spend much time on, but I could see I had to have a stab at answering. ‘I’m sure he’s a solid enough fellow. And they have the old literary world in common.’
‘It’s funny,’ said Woody, digging into the brown shrimps, ‘I had the impression that he had … Well …’
‘Had what, old chap?’
‘Well, I could be completely wrong, but I had the impression that he had another iron in the fire.’
‘Ouch!’ I said. ‘Look out, you chump. You just squirted lemon in my eye.’
‘Did I? Sorry, old man. I thought you were in pain at the thought of Venables leaving Georgie in the lurch. I can’t imagine why, though, since it’s quite clear you’re potty about the girl yourself.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Beeching.’
‘Oh, stop it, Bertie, for heaven’s sake. Your tongue hangs out like Monty Beresford’s golden retriever on the Fourth of June.’
‘You are referring to another man’s fiancée, Woody. That’s surely ultra something.’
‘Do you mean ultra vires?’
‘I mean it’s jolly well not on.’
Woody separated an oyster from its shell and applied the citrus, this time without nearly blinding me. ‘Venables talked a lot about his parents,’ he said. ‘All the years they’d lived abroad and how they wanted a quiet old age in the English countryside. But they don’t really know anyone.’
‘So the idea is they get their legs under the Hackwood table and Sir Henry introduces them to all the Dorsetshire gentry?’
‘Yes. And lucky gentry, you might well say. It was all a bit sad. I think he accepted my explanation of this hare-brained flirting scheme I’d been talked into, but he seemed a bit wistful.’
‘Wistful?’
‘It was as though he and Georgie were both trying to please the elder generation, whereas Amelia and I are pledged to one another despite anything the old folks can throw at us.’
I speared a moody winkle. ‘And what about Amelia? Is she still of the view that you’re a modern Bluebeard and that Georgiana’s a scarlet woman?’
‘I’ve been asked back this weekend. That must be a good sign. As for Georgiana’s behaviour, Amelia accepted her story. She presumed Georgie had been talked into this typically loony scheme by you.’
‘Thank you. You’ve been on the blower, have you?’
‘Yes. Now it’s been mended, Amelia’s been in touch a fair bit. Between you and me, Bertie – but please don’t tempt providence by blurting this out – the whole thing’s on again.’
‘Congratulations, old man. I couldn’t be more pleased. She’s a splendid girl.’
‘She certainly is.’
‘I hope one day she’ll show me her butterfly collection.’
Woody’s eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘You keep away.’
I poured a glass of frosty white to toast the news. ‘So what’s this other iron in the Venables fire?’
‘He mentioned no names,’ said Woody, ‘but he spoke of someone he’d met on his travels. In Constantinople, I think. Her parents have a place in Nottinghamshire.’
‘Well, that’s far enough away.’
‘And it’s where the Persian cat comes from originally.’
‘So they’d know a few people,’ I said.
‘Presumably, yes, and I gathered the family had some scratch of their own so they wouldn’t need the Spanier riches.’
‘Better and better,’ I said, replacing the glass on the table. ‘Meanwhile, all is for the best though often we doubt what the unsearchable something of whatsit brings to pass.’
‘What are you on about, Bertie?’
‘The poet Milton, Woody. Jeeves passed the thought my way.’
‘It may have lost something en route.’
‘Possibly,’ I conceded. ‘Talking of routes, are you still driving your Underground train?’
‘No, sadly that’s all gone back to normal. Jolly good fun, the General Strike. It just didn’t last nearly long enough.’
‘It more or less passed me by,’ I admitted.
‘You chump, Bertie. Even the girls came up from Kingston St Giles to lend a hand.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Amelia sold tickets and Georgie drove the 27 bus.’
I managed to keep a grip on the slippery glass as I stopped it halfway to the lips.
‘Georgiana drove a bus?’
‘Yes.’
‘With people on it?’
‘Yes. The 27. From Hounslow to Muswell Hill.’
‘Were there many … injured?’